


O, Capitán

by redhearted



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhearted/pseuds/redhearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iker is a Captain at heart, and David has a thing for men with authority. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O, Capitán

There is only so much they can do before the bed begins to squeak and the headboard to bounce irritably off the wall, like,  _yeah, yeah, you think I haven't been through this before?_  Except there's only so long they can care about that, because once they're naked like this and Iker is fitted to his body just so, David can't quite muster a single atom in his body to give a damn.  
  
With the two of them in the same city now, which allows them to see each other weekly, David had thought they would finally be able to remain celibate during national team call-ups. Somehow, they only seem to have gotten more daring. More reckless. Iker fucking feels him up in the  _lift_. There are CAMERAS in lifts. Granted, they'd been packed in with other teammates like sardines, but still. Iker Casillas was not supposed to do public touching.  
  
"I thought I knew you," David had told him, disbelieving, after they'd disembarked and arrived safely at David's room. Iker just gave him a small smug smile and stood there looking smouldering hot. Joder, the power he wielded over David's mind and body.  
  
This power, which they have always had over each other, is also what has gotten them in bed again this time, breathless, sweaty, one. They had been talking about their dreams, which led to sexual fantasies, which led to David admitting his...his weakness for men of power.  
  
Specifically, leaders. More specifically still, captains of football teams. Men who knew what needed to be done and commanded you accordingly; men of courage and heart; resilient men, who were demanding and oh-so-stoic.  
  
Iker insisted that he wasn't stoic. David asserted that he could very much be stoic and even heroic in times of need. Tears of joy took none of that away. Iker agreed, but he was clearly already thinking about something else.  
  
"How about you?" David asked, idly drawing on Iker's stomach with a fingertip. (It was a team formation. He couldn't help it, he practically breathed football.)  
  
"We need to talk about your performance," Iker said instead. He scrutinized David briefly, then stood and said, "Get dressed."  
  
David stared. It was twelve midnight and they had nowhere to go. "Wh...Iker, what?"  
  
"You will not address your captain by name until you have earned it."  
  
Oh, well, fuck. David's eyes widened, and the realization that Iker was actually carrying out the fantasy caused an instant response in his system.

He stared at Iker until Iker ordered, "Put your clothes on, boy."  
  
 _Boy_. A shiver of anticipation ran down his spine and he stood to comply, pulling on sweatpants and his t-shirt. He grinned slightly then, to acknowledge the humor in the situation, and Iker's lips twitched. But then: "What are you smiling for?"  
  
David stopped smiling. "Nothing."  
  
"Let's talk about your performance. What do you think you can do better?"  
  
"I..." David hesitated. "Like, in football?"  
  
Iker looked at him with darkened eyes, said, "What else?"  
  
He was getting more into the scene. He bowed his head, heart kicking in his chest. "I don't know."  
  
"You know," Iker said, "Say it. Go on."  
  
"In bed," David answered in a small voice. "Capitán."  
  
"So come here and show me if you've improved," Iker told him softly, and David thought that corrupt, coercive captain was a pretty hot look. He sank to his knees in front of Iker.   
  
"Can I?" He looked up, gave Iker his best questioning puppy eyes. Iker sank a hand into his hair, winding his fingers through it, smiled. So David reached for the waist of Iker's shorts and slid it down, leaning in to take Iker's already-hard length into his mouth.  
  
"What would the other guys think of you?" Iker asked softly. "Fucking the captain."  
  
David couldn't answer; Iker's grip in his hair kept his mouth stretched around his cock. God, it was hot. He could feel his own erection, trapped inside his sweatpants. He hoped his captain would take care of it soon.  
  
Which did happen, not too long later, David on his back and Iker holding his legs apart and penetrating him in one sure, swift thrust. He strains at the feeling, Iker's thickness inside him again, his captain's cock, taking what was his. The bedsprings were creaking and the headboard giving in, reluctantly, to dull thumps against the wall. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the way they fit and the current between them and how they had opened up to each other so wholly their worlds were as close to the same as two humans' worlds ever could be.   
  
The same, yet still quite different. The next time on the pitch, Iker in his Spain colors, David can't keep his eyes off that armband. The authority signalled by it. The drop of sweat on Iker's brow. That look of concentration.


End file.
